


Army Regulation

by MadKingV3rn0n



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, churboose - Freeform, hair cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadKingV3rn0n/pseuds/MadKingV3rn0n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The army is very strict about its regulations, especially those of hair length, and Caboose is bound and determined that Church have his hair the proper length. Church just wants Caboose to go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Army Regulation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brice_Gottlieb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brice_Gottlieb/gifts).



“Church, _come on_ , you need a haircut; let me give you one!”

Church groaned at the statement from his young underling. Caboose had been obsessed with cutting the other man’s unruly hair to match his own close cropped, army regulation hair. Church’s shoulder length hair didn’t bother him one bit but to Caboose it seemed like the end of the world. Church almost told the young idiot to fuck off, almost. He had been bound and determined to tell the giant to leave him alone so he could be without his incessant yammering for two seconds but instead he said, “Fine, whatever.” As soon those surprising words passed Church’s chapped lips, he knew that there must not be a god because no god with a single shred of decency would allow himself to damn himself this badly.

Michael Caboose stood before the shorter man in absolute shock, his eyes wide and his mouth a gape in surprise; he never expected him to actually say _yes_. A manic grin immediately spread across his face and grabbed Church’s hand and tugged him toward his room. If Tucker had been present, like he was supposed to be, there would have definitely been a hearty “bow chicka bow wow” with enthusiastic hip thrusting directed toward them. Church thanked the god that definitely didn’t exist that he wasn’t.

When they reached Caboose’s small and messy room, he immediately shoves Church down into a metal desk chair. “Stay here,” commands Caboose and the other man disappears into the small half bathroom that was attached to the room. Church tried to ignore the feeling of nervousness that twisted itself in the bottom of his stomach; it was just a haircut. While he waited, his leg jiggling in anxiety, he spared a glance around the small room. He had never really seen the inside of the other soldier’s room, choosing mainly to stay as far away as possible from the other man when they weren’t outside in the heat of the desert watching the equally incompetent Red team. He was forced to listen to Caboose’s constant babbling all day on patrol, he really didn’t want to extend that time to relaxation time too.

Photographs and sketches lined the white brick walls, some of people he recognized, some not. He saw pictures of himself, Tucker with Junior smiling brightly, Donut and Caboose posing with peace signs and duck faces, Grif and Simmons relaxing in the shade, various pictures of a hoard of kittens, and various others. There was one picture in particular, however, that caught really Church’s eye. A framed picture of two tall men standing with Caboose on the Moon, his home, hung over Caboose’s bed. They were all smiling happily with their arms wrapped around each other, Caboose towering over them. Church smiled as he looked at the picture, feeling a small pang of sadness for his own family that he had left behind to join the war. His sadness, however, is quickly shadowed by his annoyance at the state of the other man’s bed.

On the far wall of the room, Caboose’s small twin bed was buried underneath a pile of possibly dirty or possibly clean clothes with his armor thrown haphazardly on top of the pile. He resisted the urge to groan and roll his eyes, how many damn times did he tell Caboose that he had to hang his armor up after patrol? He had told him at least ten times this week and yet the private never listened. “Fucking idiot,” he grumbles under his breath. He couldn’t help but think of how hypocritical it was that Church couldn’t keep his long hair but Caboose refused to follow every other regulation; it wasn’t fair.

As he continued to look at the bed, Church vaguely wonders how the extremely tall and lanky man slept on the tiny, uncomfortable mattress and he’s just about to ask when Caboose is back standing in front of him with a pair of electric hair clippers and a pair of traditional scissors. He grinned, “You’re going to look so much better.”

Church rolled his eyes, “Yeah, whatever.”

Caboose turns away to plug in the clippers and says, “Take your shirt off so you don’t get any hair stuck to your back. It’s always so tickly!”

Church’s face blanched, first he had to let Caboose cut his hair and now he had to be shirtless too? Church heaved a sigh, the logic did make sense, so he reluctantly peeled off his t-shirt. Caboose turned around and grinned, “Well it looks like someone’s _finally_ been working out.” Church blushed again, mentally damning the other man back to the Moon where his idiocy could be contained and far away from him.

Caboose extends his hands toward Church and begins cards his fingers through Church’s blonde, choppy locks thoughtfully. Church would be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy the feel of the other man’s pianist-like fingers running through his hair. “I have always wanted to do this,” admits Caboose in a quiet whisper, his fingers still running through the strands.

Church sucks in an uneasy gasp of air and a blush of embarrassment tinges the tips of his overly large ears. He ignores the voice of reason in the back of his head commenting on how much of an idiot he was, it was just a haircut. There’s a smaller voice there too, which he ignores even more, that says that maybe the other man’s actions meant something more. He heaves a false sigh of irritation and snaps, “Yeah, yeah, can you just get on with it?” He is desperate to get out of the metal chair and return to the comfort and safety of his room where thoughts that may or may not be one hundred percent heterosexual about a certain Michael J. Caboose could be kept contained and to himself.

Caboose nods and with the smallest hint of disappointment says, “Sure, Church.” Church almost has it in him to feel sorry for the younger man. Almost. He turned on the electric hair clippers and Church held his breath, he immediately regretted this decision. When the clippers first made contact, however, he relaxed.

It was weird to have Caboose cut his hair. Even though he was pegged as the Blue team’s “resident idiot”, he was incredibly focused and every pass of the clippers was done with extreme precision. Church shivered as he felt tiny tendrils of hair flit across his neck and run down his back; Caboose just laughed and continued to work. Church spared a glance down on the floor’s metal floor and at the strands of dirty blonde hair that were piled up around him, he and his hair had had a good run.

Caboose turns the clippers off and ran a hand through his now army regulation length hair, dusting off the excess hair that had refused to fall off, as if the tendrils were clinging to Church’s skull refusing to let go. “There,” exclaimed Caboose loudly, looking smug and proud of his work, “much better!”

Church experimentally ran a hand through his hair, the soft, short strands unresisting to his touch. He ran his hands around the hair to make sure that Caboose hadn’t left any spots or had shaved too far but surprisingly he only found perfect even hair; he had actually done a good job. A flush of embarrassment once again tinged his cheeks and he awkwardly stands up from the chair, shaking the excess hair from his back. “Um, thanks,” he mutters quietly. He feels like he’s fourteen again, trying unsuccessfully to talk to the beautiful Allison Texas.

Caboose smiles at him, “It’s no problem.” There’s a moment of awkward intensity between them, their eyes locked together, but the moment is quickly ruined when Caboose hugs Church tightly. “Now we have matching hair, everyone will be able to tell that we’re the best of friends!”

“Caboose, get the fuck off of me, you idiot!” Yelled Church in exasperation, trying to force Caboose’s strong arms from around his waist.

“You know you love it, Church,” says Caboose with a smug tone.

Well, he wasn’t wrong.


End file.
